An half hour later, after much verbal bludgeoning, some of the other kind, and what was probably a rigged game of Drawn Straws, I find myself standing in the workshop. The beardling whose jaw I fixed is standing a pace ahead of me with my hand on his shoulder. I can feel him shaking through his armor. Come to think of it, I don't feel so hot myself, even with the White regenerative magic pulsing through my blood. In fact, I can feel my blood running positively cold as Baldir turns very, very slowly to stare us down with his mountain heavy gaze, like he just can't believe anyone would dare. His brows furrow together and he frowns, ever so slightly. Grabthar's Guts! But this Dwarf is scary when he's pissed. In anyone else, I'd have diagnosed a whiny disposition with a side order of temper tantrum. In Baldir, it's virtually all I can do to keep from pissing myself. I take some small amount of comfort in the sounds of pain I hear coming from the door behind me, gruff Dwarves with broken noses who will think twice before dwarfhandling me again.

I clear my throat. Baldir waits like stone. The beardling nearly passes out, so I give him a little healing touch and push him forward a step. Baldir's frown grows incrementally deeper.

"Master Baldir...we're so sorry to interrupt...ahem...but it appears we have a situation."

Baldir sets down his hammer. Its ominous, heavy clunk draws my attention to the project behind him. What a thing of beauty! I have no idea what its function might be but I can see its intricacy, tiny cogs and wheels set perfectly together and bounded in pure metallic artwork. For a moment, fear is replaced by sheer admiration. I've never been much of any kind of a smith myself. I'm more for repairing bodies. Strips of metal glow with heat to the other side of him and the heat waves rise up around his head and shoulders, as if visibly cloaking him in his anger. He crosses his thick arms and I'm forcefully reminded of my precarious situation here.

I relay all the information I've gathered, careful not to dawdle. His eyes widen as the greater implications hit home. When I finish, he grumbles, "And is that everything?" I nod. "Good, you have done well. Keep on it." I can see him pulling out of himself, taking charge of the situation, and I'm again reminded of why I took this job in the first place.

He turns to the beardling. "You. What is your name again? Sorensen?"

"Yes, sir, Brynjarr."

Baldir regards Brynjarr for a moment. "You're going to keep your mouth shut about all of this." A statement and not a question. The beardling nods, but Baldir is already talking again. "That's twice in recent memory you've shown courage, young dwarf. Your balls have just earned you a promotion. Come with me."

With that he strides toward the workshop exit. Brynjarr and I exchange relieved glances and he hops up to quickly follow the old ambassador. I can hear him bellowing as he enters the adjacent chambers, "Alright! Now, who thought it would be a good idea to keep all this from me..."

Kurgen: You tell Master Baldir how the other counsel members didn't actively try to keep him in the dark but simply were too intimidated by his hot temper to dare interrupting him. At least that is what they claim.That doesn't save any of them from a harsh reprimand the instant he enters the conference room. If you didn't know that he has been quite calm a moment ago, you would duck for cover. You indeed see some of the elders flinch. "Now that this is said, we will discuss the actual matter at hand. Let's not waste any more time. This young lad here informs me tha' there's reason to suspect that good ol' Leo has gone to dance with the Feys. This explains much that happened in these past few days. The question is: What do we do with this lil piece if intel?"He waits for the elders to answer that one for him."Well, we could announce it and inform the local population..." one tries coutiously. "But?""... but that would be like asking for war," he finishes.Baldir just nods."Maybe we should keep it to ourselves and try to make the best of the situation. If we hand over the fugitives we can make profit ou..." *THUMP* The heavy board of the stone table rings. You wouldn't be surprised to see cracks form under Baldirs fist."I will have nothing of this. Out of my eyes, Grumdin, before I forget myself!" You have never suspected the ancient dwarf could still move that fast.

The meeting continues. It is a good opportunity to learn first hand why Baldir has risen to his current position. You get the impression that he playes the meeting like a game and stayes in control all the time. Somehow he manages to make the other elders say just what he wants them to say and finally have them reach the conclusions he wanted them to reach and think it was their idea. You suspect he had palnned this right from the beginning.

"So I sum up: We can't annouce publicly that the king is under total control of a dark mage of unknown origin. All we have is the word of a bunch of youngsters and a dishonored knight that are accused of assasination and murder. Just because they know the whole city is searching for them. Before we can do anything we have to find more proof. Thus our first step will be to find and shelter these fugitives in secrecy. We will inform our trusted allies of the necromancer but not of the fugitives. Maybe we can tip-off of the mages or even the inquisition that there is a powerfull necromancer on the loose but nothing else. Let them have their own investigation. I will personally take care of all that, so you lot can stick to the regular work. I know most of you are not fond of this dishonorable stuff and would prefer to go in axes blazing, even at you age" he finishes with a smile. "Let's have a short break. After that you will fill me in on everything else that happened. Everything, and may it seem yet so trivial."

In a quiet corner of the room he instructs you: "Kurgen, you did well and you earned another chance to proove yourself. You know where to find Grimbold's Workshop, right? Bring your new friends there and tell the little leech that I call in the favor he owes me and that I will not take 'no' for an answer. I will see what I can do to help you get there. Njalla, have an eye on Grumdin. He may be up to something. Again. Brynjarr, you will..."You miss the rest as you hurry to do as you are told.

Whaaaat? I don't remember reading that last post. Yet it is marked as read.

Ok, so now that I've read it. Are there any mages or, barring that, skilled artists within the embassy I could use to create disguises for the fugitives? Now that we/they have access to some real resources? If there are, I take them with me. Other than that, I'm not too sure where to go with this at this point aside from the obvious:

I hasten to obey Baldir's command. His driving charisma may have been what moved me with such speed at first [either out of the door or to a mage and then out the door], but my true motivation is what moves me now. I am of a mind to believe these fugitives. Their story rings of truth. Of course, I cannae know for sure until I corroborate the story with young squire Auttenberg. Regardless, the only way I can get to the bottom of this is to harbor the fugitives for now. I must be close to the source of the story to determine it's worth. Besides, there is too much at stake to leave it lie. Thus, Baldir's command or not, I go.

It isn't long before I arrive back at the hiding place. I can see that Sir Brandon is still alive, but yet unwell. Another piece of the puzzle. Dark magics far beyond my grasp have their hold on him. That old fire burns in my chest once more, stoked by the sight of evil. It is enough to make even a dwarf of my disposition unreasonable. Once more, I am unnecessarily gruff with the boy necromancer. "Come, boy, gather the knight. We go yet deeper into hiding." I know it isn't his fault. And I sense goodness within him. I shake my head at my own bias, as though the movement will dispel it, and say in a gentler tone, "Easy now, Nebul, we must here tread carefully. Gather your courage. We will see you through this, on my honor, or we will die trying." [if mage/artist, apply disguises now, and prepare to exit, if not, hoods up, pustules on, and a slow shuffle to slimy little Grimbold's place].

"I understand. I can sense you are troubled by the darkness that even overcomes our actions against the evil we face. As a necromancer of light, I am too familiar with the situation. Evil can be re-purposed for good, and our deception must do exactly that." I prepare the minor disguise again with the sickness, and don the hood. "I have spent this past time trying to remove the curse from Brandon, but to no avail. Have you heard from any of our friends since you have been out?"

"Sadly, no. Your friend, Quanire, seems to be settling in well back at the embassy but as for our errant friends, nary a whisper." I frown, thinking. "For good or ill, with this many eyes now searching, they shan't remain hidden for long. I only hope we can retrieve them safely first. Let us hasten that endeavor. We go now to Grimbold's Workshop." I relay it's location. "Mark it well, in case we are separated, but do not approach the place alone. Grimbold would sell his own mother for a steak dinner."

Quantumsurfer wrote:Ok, so now that I've read it. Are there any mages or, barring that, skilled artists within the embassy I could use to create disguises for the fugitives? Now that we/they have access to some real resources? If there are, I take them with me.

There are no mages or artists working directly fot the embassy. Dwarves are famous for their distrust in magic. Thus dwarven mages are rare. If the embassy is in need of a mage, they have to call for one. Similar story with artists. A dwarf praising the beauty of a painting or the harmony of a lovely tune is considered soft. And last but not least dwarves usually detest deception in all formes, such as illusions or disguises.What you can do is bring new sets of clean clothes for your new friends and maybe even a pair of gloves to cover the knight's missing hand. Maybe there is more you can bring to make them look less suspicious?

You meet in the basement and discuss your next moves. Kurgen also reports that the efforts of the guards and the freelance bountyhunters didn't lessen. In fact the clampdown of the law enforcement has drastically changed the mood in the streets. People only move in groups of at least three and only talk in wispers.

Nebul & Kurgen: For the first time in days you dare to enter the streets without a cowl pulled deep into your face. It was a good idea to dress you up as chandler, complete with a small cart and goods, whatever Kurgen could find in a hurry. In combination with the pillows tucked under Eduard's shirts and a the fake hand as well as a wig you feel pretty safe. You are shocked to witness the change that happend to the city in such a short time. Although the weather is nice and bright you have the impression of a dark gloom and a storm just waiting to happen. When you first arrived in here years ago, it took you months to get used to the all present chatter and buzzing of the streets. Now it feels suppressed and haunted. More thugs than usual flank the streets in small groups and scan the crowd with suspicious glances, beeing watched in turn by the many watchmen. The normal cityzens who in the past liked to stop and chat with neighbours here and there now strictly mind their own business and make haste. In passing you notice a group of thugs forcefully questioning a man. He is roughly of the same age and build as the wanted knight, but the similarity end there. He has brown hair and the flat nose and obviously he still possesses both his hands. That doesn't stop the thugs from pestering him until he gives in and "buys their good will".You pass two patrols without incident but then the road in front of you is blocked by a checkpoint.

"Kurgen, we'll need to go around another street. I suspect we will encounter more of these ruffians, but we must keep to ourselves. I know you wanted to help that poor man as much as I did, but we simply do not have that luxury."

Additional info: Scenes like the ones with the not-so lookalike seem to happen all over the city. Many roads are blocked with barrikades to force the citizens to pass the checkpoints. A child that tries to climb such a blockade is harshly reprimanded: "You are lucky the guards didn't see you."